The Skyrim Chronicles
by Arlux1313
Summary: Tyrland is one of three Dragonborns in Skyrim. Yet even after slyaing Alduin the World-Eater, and ending the civil war that raged in his home country, many trials and difficult battles await him and his two siblings.
1. Chapter 1

Tyrland sat alone at the Skyforge, the sound of metal on metal ringing in his ears as he brought a hammer down to bevel out a red hot blade he had just taken out of the red hot coals of the forge. He had sat at the Skyforge for a month, taking barely any time to eat or sleep, as every time he closed his eyes he saw Skjor being slaughtered by that merciless wretch Krev the Skinner. As he quenched the now dull red blade,Tyrland knew he would never forget that evening. It was not just due to how Skjor had died, it was the way he had lost control, and allowed the wolf inside of him to take over. He had taken his time with Krev, first by ripping her sword arm off at the shoulder, and beating her about the head with it several times. Tyrland had knocked all the teeth out of the right side of Krev's head when he was finished. Though it burned when his hand touched it, he then took Krev's silver mace and crushed her knees into powder, before ripping them off of her body. Tossing aside the silver weapon, he grabbed the head of the sobbing woman, and proceeded to smash her already broken face into a wall until there was nothing but a bloody stump left.

Kodlak had not approved of the way Tyrland had destroyed Skjor's killer though. The Herbinger of the Companions had said that what Tyrland had done was overkill, though the younger Nord had not fully heard what the elder man had said. He was still seething, and the wolf inside him was demanding to be released, as that was the first time in the last thirteen years that he had transformed. The first nightmares had come that night, and Tyrland did not trust himself to fall asleep.

So that is what brought the young Nord up to the Skyforge. He found that keeping himself busy by forging, he did not think about the events of that night. Bringing the smoking blade out of the quenching oil, after holding it up to check for any warps to the blade to which he found none, Tyrland brought the now cool blade to the grinding wheel. He set the blade against the stone of the Skyforge, as he wrapped a high grain belt of rough-paper around the grinding wheel. Satisfied with the chosen grand, Tyrland then picked up the quenched blade and set about grinding the edge to the blade he was forging.

The sound of leather boots on stone reached Tyrland's ears, as he caught a subtle but sweet scent on the wind. His Shield-Sister Aela had come. Tyrland loved Aela like a brother would love his sister, and besides Kodlak, she was the only one to ever call him Tyrland. Everyone else, even his twin brother Bramiond called him Tyr. Aela felt the same way about Tyrland, and aside from the brothers Vilkas and Farkas, they were the closest in the Companions.

"Tyrland." Aela began, her tone holding an edge that told the young Nord she was serious.

"Hello sister." Tyrland replied, as he began to grind the opposite side of the steel blade using the same grain of rough-paper. "What brings you up here?"

Had Tyrland not been in the most delicate part of forging a blade, Aela would have punched him in the head for that question. Unclenching her right fist, Aela stepped up to Tyrland's left. "You bring me up here brother. You have done nothing but sit at this forge for the last month. You do not eat and you barely sleep. All of us even Kodlak are concerned for you."

The grinding wheel stopped, and Tyrland lowered the blade from the wheel. The sun now high in the afternoon Skyrim sky reflected brightly on the roughly ground edges of the blade Tyrland was forging. "I cannot sleep Aela. Every time I close my eyes, I see that monster killing Skjor."

Aela looked at her Shield-Brother in shock. She had not known this was the reason Tyrland had sat at the Skyforge for the last month. "Why did you not speak of this before?"

"Nobody had asked me what I was doing up here before." Tyrland replied, as he removed the high grain rough-paper from the grinding wheel, and replaced it with a finer grain rough-paper.

"So you sat at the Skyforge to take your mind off of your nightmares." Aela said, not as a question, yet as a statement.

"Yes. I do not wish to relive that night in my dreams." Tyrland replied, as he refined the edge's of the blade he was working on. He took the blade away from the grinding wheel, and held it out straight to inspect the edges. "So I've been up here keeping myself busy, and keeping my nightmares away."

"Your work is impressive brother." Aela began, her arms folded across her chest. "Yet you have made so many blades for us, we would have enough to go to war with the Imperials again."

Tyrland could not help the bark of laughter that escaped him. It had been a year since the war in Skyrim had come to an end, and Ulfric Stormcloak was crowned king. Though the war did not end with the death of General Tullias, but with the death of Emperor Tidus Meede that Tyrland's younger sister Sif had carried out, and was able to pin the death of Cyrodil's Emperor on the Altmeri Dominion. All of this unfolded during the cease-fire between General Tullias and Ulfric Stormcloak up on the Greybeards temple of High Hrothgar. In that same moment, Tyrland had called for the war to end. With the Emperor dead seemingly on the orders of Skyrim's Dominion ambassador, General Tullias named himself Emperor of Cyrodil, and nullified the White-gold Concordat then and there. Ambassador Elenwen was forced to withdraw from Skyrim, and Ulfric was crowned High King after Emperor Tullias withdrew his forces.

"I do not think we will be warring with Cyrodil anytime soon sister." Tyrland said, as he heated the tang of his blade in the coals of the Skyforge, before burning an oakwood handle onto the tang. Tyrland had already fit a knot patterned handguard on, before burning on the oakwood handle that was a hand and a half in length. He then screwed on a hexagonal based pommel that formed into a cone towards the tip. After wrapping the handle in a light but durable leather, Tyrland held the blade out in his right hand, before placing it in a scabbard he had made himself. "But this blade is not for the weapon racks of Jorvaskir. This one is for me."

Taking the blade her Shield-Brother's newly forged blade in her hands, Aela inspected the finely forged steel for herself. "I doubt even Eorlund could have forged a finer blade Tyrland. Your month of work at the forge has certainly paid off."

"Thank you Aela." Tyrland said, resting his head against Aela's chest after taking back his blade. The month of forging with little sleep had finally taken its toll on the young Nord.

"You know all the best swords have names." Aela said, lightly running her fingers through Tyrland's long dark hair.

Tyrland was silent for a moment, as sleep began to take him. Yet in this state, a name came to him. A name that would strike fear into the members of the Silver Hand, when it was wielded against them. "Silverbane."

"A fine name, for a fine blade Tyrland." Aela said, as she hoisted her Sheild-Brother over her shoulder with a surprising amount of strength one would not think the female Nord possessed. "Now weather you like it or not. It's time for you to get some well deserved rest."

 **(A/N)** Alright after re-reading my original work by the same name, I realized one thing. It absolutely sucked. I had so many ideas I wanted to do, and the finished product didn't turn out the way I had imagined it in my mind. Plus where I was in terms of story, I realized that it would take forever to get to where I wanted to be. So I decided to scrap my work, and start fresh with the main quest line, and civil war side quest already completed.

Also, once the Companions quest line is finished, I'll be moving onto the Dawngaurd story, and hopefully this time around I'll produce something better than the original story.


	2. Chapter 2

The small company consisting of the two Nords that were Tyrland and Aela, and the Imperial woman named Ria who was the newest member of the Companions, slowly made their way to where a nest of Silver Hand laid their heads. Aela had found where the Silver Hand had set up shop, and was dead set on going after them. Kodlak had agreed that something had to be done about the Silver Hand, yet had insisted they not made a scene like Tyrland had when he brutalized Krev.

"Why do they always set up in run down fortresses?" Tyrland asked, as the three surveyed the surrounding area.

"I count three, no wait four sentries." Aela said, notching an arrow.

"Make that five." Tyrland nodded in the direction of the crumbling stone watch tower.

"I never would have seen him." Ria said in amazement.

"You're still learning new blood." Tyrland replied. "By the time you're ready to be a member of the Circle, you won't miss a single thing."

"And speaking of the Circle." Aela began as she sniffed at the air. "We have more company coming our way."

"Who is it?" Tyrland asked, keeping his attention on the Silver Hand fortress.

Aela gave a huff of appreciation, as she recognized who it was that was about to join the three. "It's Tohr and Fenrir."

"Oh good. We'll make very short work of the Silver Hand with those two here." Tyrland said, with a satisfied smirk on his face. "But all the same, we should get moving before they get here. Those two enjoy a battle a little too much for my tastes."

"What does that mean?" Ria asked, tilting her head.

"Tohr is battle-crazy, and Fenrir is bloodthirsty and quite possibly a little unstable." Aela replied, as she lightly drew back on her bow string.

"Take the one on the tower first." Tyrland said eyeing the Silver Hand sentry on the crumbling tower.

"I know how to use a bow better than you Tyrland." Aela snapped, before drawing back on her bowstring. Her arrow whistled through the air, and caught the Silver Hand in the head right between the eyes. The sentry went rigid for a split second, as if he knew for a split second exactly what had happened, before falling back onto the crumbling stone of the tower.

"She's an incredible shot." Ria began, as Aela felled a second sentry, then the third, and the fourth after that. "Quite the incredible shot."

"There's one more sentry left." Tyrland said, as Aela drew another arrow from her quiver.

"Not for much longer." Aela said icly, as she notched her arrow on her bowstring. She never got the chance to fire, as a large sword impaled the Silver Hand sentry from behind. The sentry fell forward twitching as his blood soaked into the grass. Aela slowly loosened the slack on her bowstring, as two large figures approached the fortress from the west.

One was a Nord far larger than even Vilkas and Farkas. He wore the armor of the Companions, which had seen its fare share of battles, as many of the plates were scratched and battered from the countless fights this Nord had been in. In his right hand was a powerful warhammer, that like his armor looked to have seen its fare share of battles, yet looked nonetheless deadly. The second of the two, though not as large of the first was still very well built. Unlike the his companion, he was a Breton, and his only armor were his boots and leggings, along with two leather straps across his back and chest. One of the straps had a small sheath on it, which contained a short bronze colored blade. The other blade, the large greatsword was currently lodged in the corpse of the Silver Hand he had just thrown said weapon into.

"Looks like Fenrir stole your kill sister." Tyrland said with an appreciative huff. No other man or woman outside of the Companions would have had the strength to lift a greatsword with one hand, much less throw it with the amount of strength that Fenrir had done.

"Damned show off." Aela scoffed unimpressed.

"Nothing ever impresses you does it sister?" Tyrland asked, as he watched Fenrir place his boot on the corpse of the Silver Hand, and yank his blade from the corpse with such force that it lifted the corpse off the ground from the waist up, before wetly smacking the blood soaked ground when Fenrir's greatsword became dislodged.

"There are a few things that do." Aela replied, as she placed her arrow back into her quiver.

Tyrland shook his head, as he, Aela, and Ria joined Tohr and Fenrir as the Breton placed his greatsword back into its scabbard, not bothering to clean off the blood. The first thing that Tyrland noted, was that Fenrir's upper torso and face were spattered with blood that was not his.

"What happened to you brother?" Tyrland began, with the same sort of scoff Aela had used moments ago. "Did some hapless saber cat cross your path?"

"Vilkas sent us after bandits in the area." Tohr said removing his battle worn helmet, revealing his long straw colored hair. Though his armor was well worn from all the battles he had been in, he was only a few years older than Tyrland, who was only in his twenty first year of his life. "Fenrir … Well he did what he does best."

"Meaning to say, he butchered those bandits." Aela said crossly. Though she had no love of bandits, Aela as well as the rest of the Circle did not approve of how much Fenrir loved to spill blood. Her scowl only deepened, as Fenrir smiled viciously in response to Aela's statement.

"I can only keep him at bay for so long sister." Tohr sighed. While the large Nord loved battle, he loved the thrill of the fight and finding a strong opponent to trade blows with. He did not relish taking life in such a way as his Shield Brother.

"We'll have to notify Kodlak about this." Aela said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Tell him then sister." Fenrir said with a nonchalant shrug. "They were bandits who made the choice to prey on the innocent people of Skyrim."

"Which calls for you to do what exactly? Rip them open and bathe in their blood?" Tyrland asked, with a scowl that matched Aela's.

Fenrir's sick smile turned into a snarl almost at once. "They were bandits Tyr." He growled. "You know why I hate them. Everyone in Jorvaskir knows why I hate bandits."

"I know brother, and I along with everyone of your Shield Siblings sympathises with you. Yet you need to try to keep yourself calm when you hunt them." Tyrland replied.

"I do not think that is possible." Fenrir growled. "My blood boils every time I encounter them. All that rage comes to the surface, and I just see red."

"Is that from your anger or all the blood you begin spilling?" Tyrland asked in response.

Fenrir's expression changed once again from a snarl to a smirk, letting out a bark of laughter as Tohr pointed his warhammer at the door to the Silver Hand fortress. "What's to be done about them?"

"I'm going to regret saying this." Tyrland began, as he drew Silverbane from its scabbard. "But they can suffer the same fate as Fenrir's bandits."

"Good." Fenrir snarled, as he drew his shorter bronze blade that was his Dwarven longsword. "Because if there is one thing I hate more than bandits, it's these gods damned Silver Hand."

"May I?" Tohr asked, as he placed his worn helmet back over his head.

"Be my guest brother." Tyrland began before his attention turned to Ria. "You're fighting alongside four members of the Circle New Blood. Fight well in there."

"I can hold my own well enough in a fight." The Imperial woman replied, as she drew a sword used by the Cyrodilic soldiers.

"Just stick by one of us, and you'll come out just fine." Tyrland said, before gesturing to Tohr. "After you brother."

Tohr gripped his warhammer, and kicked the door open with such force, that the door flew off his hinges. There was a horrible yelp of pain from inside, sounding at the same time as a loud and sickening crunch. Tyrland had guessed that the door had crushed a Silver Hand that was unfortunate enough to be in its way when Tohr had kicked it off its hinges. The massive Nord charged into the room, closely followed by Aela, who fired an arrow from her bow which hit one of the Silver hand in the throat. One Silver Hand who had the bright skin of a High Elf, charged at Aela with a bright silver one handed axe. Yet the red haired Nord was faster, and had already drawn back another arrow in her bow. The bolt flew through the air, and hit the charging Elf in the right eye. Aela drew a third arrow from her quiver, and took aim at a large Orc wielding a silver greatsword. Yet like when Fenrir had taken her kill before, she never got the chance to fell this Silver hand, as Tohr crushed the Orc's skull with his warhammer with a mighty roar. Instead Aela shot her arrow at a Bosmer Silver Hand archer, who had taken aim at Tohr with silver tipped arrows. Aela's arrow caught the Bosmer in the base of his throat, who would choke to death on his own blood

Unbeknownst to Aela, another High Elf Silver hand launched himself at the red haired Nord, armed with a silver dagger. He tackled the woman to the stone floor, and had raised the silver dagger. Yet when he brought the weapon down, he saw his severed sword arm fly in front of his face, to come to a rest just above Aela's head. The Altmer's eyes widened in shock, horror, and pain, yet never had the chance to scream before Ria finished what she began with the Elf's arm, by decapitating him.

"Well struck New Blood." Aela said, pushing the Altmer's corpse off of her, before being helped to her feet by Ria. The two readied themselves, as more Silver Hand charged at the Nord and Imperial, before Tyrland stepped in front of the two women.

The dark haired Nord inhaled, before what sounded like a thunderclap echoed through the fortress' dungeon. "YOL TOR SHUL!" A torrent of fire erupted from Tyrland's mouth, as his thu'um incinerated the charging Silver Hand, not even leaving their armor intact.

"I keep forgetting that Tyrland can do that." Aela said, as Tyrland's Thu'um was one of the few things that could impress the woman.

"And he says what I do is excessive." Fenrir scoffed. Though he had no room to talk, as he had one Silver Hand, a Breton like himself impaled on his Dwarven longsword, and had the crushed head of what had been a female Nord pinned against the stone wall of the fortress' dungeon in a very similar manner to what Tyrland had done to Krev the Skinner.

"I do not believe you have any room to talk." Ria said, gesturing to what Fenrir was currently doing.

"These Silver Hand do not deserve mercy New Blood." Fenrir countered, as he let both bodies crumple to the floor.

"Why do you all hate them so much?" Ria asked, as she engaged yet another Nord Silver Hand who had a silver longsword in each of her hands. Fighting this woman was an immediate mistake, as she was far more experienced than the younger Imperial. Ria had been disarmed within a matter of seconds, and had earned a boot to the abdomen for her reckless action, which sent Ria to the ground knocking the wind out of her. The Silver Hand Nord advanced upon Ria, yet Fenir who had dropped his Dwarven blade, grabbed the woman's head in both of his hands, and with a sickening snap, twisted her head all the way around.

"You'll find out some day." Aela said, helping Ria back to her feet and handing her blade back. She had to duck as two more Silver Hand flew over their head. The bodies hit the wall opposite them, and slumped rather pathetically to the floor, their chests caved in as if having been hit with a large hammer. Aela glared at Tohr, but the massive Nord was currently engaged in battle with three other Silver Hand. With a loud roar, Tohr swung his beloved hammer. What surprised Ria was the lightning that arced from his warhammer as it hit the three opposing Silver Hand. The powerful swing, combined with the lightning disintegrated the upper halves of the three Silver Hand.

"It's enchanted?" Ria asked wide-eyed.

"A friend of mine enchanted it for him." Tyrland replied over the sound of combat, as Silverbane flashed down in a diagonal slash. An Imperial Silver Hand fell to the ground in two halves, before he turned the blade in his hand and stabbed backwards. An Orc Silver Hand's eyes widened in shock, as Silverbane was buried up to the handguard into his lower abdomen.

"Tell Arc he has my thanks." Tohr said, as his warhammer momentarily sparked with lightning.

A sharp whistle came from another room, followed by Fenrir's voice. "You'll all want to see this!"

Everyone shared a look of confusion for a moment, before rushing to where they had heard Fenrir calling from. The Breton stood in front of a long wooden table, which was littered with an assortment of silver weapons, and a scattering of golden coins here and there.

"What are we looking at Fenrir?" Aela, asked slightly annoyed.

"This." Fenrir replied almost reverently, holding out his right hand. In it was a blackened fragment with a razor sharp edge on one end.

"Is that what I think it is?" Tohr asked.

"It is indeed brother." Fenrir replied. "It's another fragment of Wuthrad."


	3. Chapter 3

"Nobody's answered my question." Ria said, her arms crossed along her chest as she sat across from Tyrland. They had returned to Jorvaskir the day before, and true to what she had just said, nobody had answered her question for one reason or another. "What is Wuthrad?"

Tyrland was silent for a few moments, even as the other occupants of the great hall began to roar in delight when Njalda and Athis began to fight one another. "Have you heard the story of Yisgramor?"

"The great warrior who took much of Skyrim from the Snow Elves with his five hundred companions?" Ria asked, as several boos echoed around the hall when Njalda kicked Athis between the legs.

"Yes." Tyrland replied, as roars of approval reached his ears. Athis had recovered from Njalda's low blow, and had tackled the woman over a table, spilling food and drink everywhere. "Yisgramor wielded a powerful double-bidded battle axe in battle. He called it Wuthrad."

"So that fragment that Fenrir found, was a fragment of Yisgramor's mighty weapon?" Ria asked her eyes wide in amazed reverence. Her gaze shifted to the far end of the hall where the recovered fragments of Yisgramor's weapon were displayed.

"It was. We only have one more fragment to find before Wuthrad is complete, and Jorlund can reforge the axe." Tyrland said, as Njalda grabbed an empty mug and hit Athis in the jaw as hard as she could. The blow spun the man in a complete circle, and he stood swaying there on the spot. Someone yelled out 'finish him' to which Njalda obliged. She leapt into the air, so she was parallel with the wooden floor of the hall. She grabbed Athis' head in both of her hands, and brought him down face first onto the floor knocking him out cold. There was another roar of approval, and someone else shouted 'out of nowhere'.

Tyrland took a long swig from his own mug, draining the last of the mead inside it. "Alright New Blood. Vilkas is waiting outside in the training yard for you."

"Why is that?" Ria asked confused. "I thought I was going to be training with Aela."

Tyrland shook his head. "You said you wanted to train with long blades. Aela has never wielded a blade in combat any bigger than a dagger."

Ria sighed, and her brow furrowed. "I just thought that we have similar styles."

"Well unless you want to learn how to shoot a bow, go train with Vilkas." Tyrland replied, then added in an undertone. "Besides Aela would train you into the ground. Vilkas is rather fair. Firm but fair."

"And what will you be doing while I'm training with Vilkas?" Ria asked, as both of them rose from their chairs.

"Kodlak requested something special of me. Circle business New Blood." He added upon seeing the questioning look in the Imperial womans eyes.

"And that's why you have about two dozen Daedric daggers on top of your sword?" Ria asked.

"Three dozen actually." Tyrland corrected, clearly impressed at how observant Ria was. He thought he had done a rather decent job in concealing his daggers, as they were completely unseen, having been hidden in various places in his Companion he had misjudged her skills the day before.

"I see." Ria said, as the two opened the large doors of the mead hall, and walked towards the training ground. "Fight well then Tyr."

"Train hard Ria." Tyr replied, as he walked in the opposite direction.

-late in the night-

Tyrland panted as he set a bloodied sack on the ground just outside of a cave. He loved Kodlak like a father, but his request for the head of that hag raven had almost been the end of him. Still, Tyr had gotten what Kodlak had wanted. The hag raven's head was supposed to allow Kodlak to rid himself of his inner wolf, as the Harbinger of the Companions longed for the eternal peace of Shor's Hall in Soverngarde, and not the Hunting Grounds of Bloodmoon.

Tyrland's attention snapped back to reality sharply, as the sound of heavy wingfalls reached his ears. Silverbane came out of its scabbard with a slight ring, but a moment later the blade was back in its scabbard.

"Odaviig." Tyrland sighed. "Don't sneak up on a man like that."

The red scaled dragon landed in front of Tyrland, and though it was difficult to tell what a dragon felt, the look in Odaviig's large yellow eyes told Tyrland that something was wrong. "Odaviig, what is wrong?"

Odaviig let out a low growl before he spoke. "Your home and allies have come under attack Dovakiin. The descendants of Yisgramor need you."

Tyrland swore so bad in Dova, Odaviig gave him a disapproving growl. "I'm sorry to ask this of you Odaviig, yet I have to get back to Whiterun as fast as I can."

The red scaled dragon nodded in understanding, and lowered his long neck so Tyrland could climb on. Once safely secured between two of his neck spines, Odaviig spread his large wings, and the two were flying with all haste towards Whiterun. If he was not so worried about his Shield Siblings, he would have found the sensation of flying once again incredibly enjoyable.

Ohdaviig circled the city several times once they had reached Whiterun. Tyrland only moments before, had leapt from Odaviig's back while he was several hundred feet in the air. The wind whistled past his ears, as the ground quickly rose to meet the young dark haired Nord. Tyrland hit the ground not with a horrible splat, but lightly on his feet. One of the perks of being a werewolf.

Silverbane was out of its scabbard, as Tyrland got back to his feet. He was right in the center of the city, right at the base of the steps that lead up to Jorvaskir. As he ran up the stone steps he noticed that several Companions were standing outside of the mead hall, and that there were a huddle of bodies at their feat. Bodies of members of the Silver Hand.

"Oh shit…" Tyrland said in barely above a whisper, as he ran up the stone steps at full sprint. He burst through the doors of Jorvaskir, and Silverbane dropped from his hand. Kodlak Whitemane the Harbinger of the Companions was lying amongst a large pile of Silver Hand. He was dead.

Tyrland felt numb, as he knelt down next to Kodlak's body. His eyes were closed, and to anyone else it looked like Kodlak had fallen asleep. Tyrland didn't even feel the tears that streamed down his face, as he cradled the man who had been like his father in his arms. It was just like that night a month previous when Skjor had been killed.

Too similar to that night. The next thing Tyrland knew, was that his numbness had suddenly been replaced by a burning anger, and an overwhelming desire to kill. To hurt. To make the Silver Hand pay for killing Kodlak. No, not just pay. Tyrland did not want revenge, he wanted the Silver Hand eradicated. Tyrland felt the wolf inside of him beginning to take over, and unlike the night Skjor had died, he did not fight the instinct to transform. He embraced it.

Tyrland's armor fell loud to the floor with a loud clatter, as his chest began expanding. Joints popped out and relocated, his skeleton realigned itself, claws began to replace his nails, and ebony black fur replaced the skin of his human body. The werewolf that had replaced Tyrland gave out a long mournful howl, before racing out of Jorvaskir. He followed the scent of the Silver Hand, knowing one thing. The red sun would rise upon Skyrim tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

It was not hard for Aela to track down Tyrland. She did not need to be the best tracker in the Companions in order to find her Shield Brother. Anyone would have been able to find him, as all they would have to do would be to follow the mutilated remains that led to where the Silver Hand that had attacked Jorvaskir had retreated to. The cave entrance was splattered with blood, gore, and body parts. There were deep gouges in the rocks, from where Tyrland's claws had slashed into the rocks.

Under any other circumstances, Aela would have severely chastised any member of the circle for losing control of their inner wolf like that. Yet the Silver Hand had just signed their own death warrants when they had killed Kodlak. She herself felt her inner wolf demanding to be let loose upon the Silver Hand for what they had done.

"Yet by the time I do that, Tyrland might have pulled a Fenrir." Aela said to herself, as she entered the cave. The walls were covered in more blood, and deep claw marks. "Alright I take it back. Tyrland _definitely_ pulled a Fenrir."

Aela slowly made her way further into the cave, stepping over mutilated corpses of dozens of Silver Hand. She found Tyrland, who was no longer a wolf lying amongst the mutilated corpses of the Silver Hand he had ripped apart. To her immense relief, he was very much alive despite all the blood that he was covered in.

"Gods damnit Tyrland, you reckless bastard." Aela snarled, as she hauled the semi-conscious Nord to his feet.

"Whaat…?" Came the reply from Tyrland, whose long dark hair was plastered to his face by all the blood from all the Silver Hand he had slaughtered. "There is no way in hell you are going to tear me a new one for this…"

Aela opened her mouth for a moment, then closed it again. "No I won't." She led Tyrland to a chair that hadn't been destroyed in his rampage. "What I want to know is where you were when the Silver Hand attacked us."

Tyrland was silent for a moment, as he surveyed the carnage he had wreaked on the Silver Hand hideout. "It was a request for Kodlak."

Aela felt her stomach contract when Tyrland had mentioned Kolak. It was like a red hot glove had grabbed her insides. Her facial expression hardened, as she fought to keep her inner wolf from going on a blind rampage as Tyrland's had done. A moment and several deep breaths later, Aela spoke once more. "Tell me."

-twilight close to the hag raven cave-

 _Tyrland threw one of his concealed Daedric daggers into the chest of a vampire that had made the mistake of attacking him. The vampire coughed up blood, as he looked down at the hilt of the weapon. The Redguard vampire's glowing eyes widened, as glowing sigils appeared on the dagger's hilt. The vampire began screaming, as his veins visibly glowed when his blood ignited. Tyrland had enchanted his daggers, and each one had been made to specifically fight vampires. The Redguard's screams went up several octaves, moments before his body crumbled into dust, leaving only Tyrland's enchanted dagger._

" _There have been way too many of these sons of bitches around for my tastes lately." Tyrland growled, as he retrieved his dagger and placed it in a hidden sheath on his belt. He sniffed at the air, and growled as he smelled more vampires approaching. He opened his hands, and two more enchanted daggers slid into his hands. He spun around in a low crouch, throwing his daggers in the same motion. Both found their mark, and embedded themselves into the chests of the two new attacking vampires. They both screamed as the enchanted daggers ignited their blood, and they crumbled into dust. Tyrland rolled to his right, as a massive fireball turned the spot he had been into molten lava._

" _Gonna have to do better than that." Tyrland growled, as he extended his right hand. The molten lava from the vampire's fireball boiled violently. Tyrland visciously swiped his hand at the vampire. The lava caused by the vampire's spell completely enveloped Tyrland's attacker, who crumbled to dust as the lava burned him away._

" _Gods damnit. Where are these sons of bitches coming from!?" Tyrland snarled, retrieving his enchanted Daedric daggers. "Someone seriously has to do something about this."_

 _He sniffed at the air, to make sure that nothing else was was headed his way. He nodded once in satisfaction, and continued on towards the hag raven cave. Though the vampires were not the only enemies that Tyrland had to contest with. More Silver Hand were waiting for him just outside the cave of the hags._

" _We know why you're here wolf." A Nord growled at him. He wore the armor of the Silver Hand like the rest of his allies. His face was heavily scarred, and his left eye was concealed by a worn patch of leather._

" _Then why not let me pass?" Tyrland replied through gritted teeth, his right hand tightly gripping Silverbane's hilt. "You and I have no quarrel at this very moment."_

" _No I think not wolf." The scarred Nord spat at the younger. "We know it was you that butchered Krev, and we will have our revenge."_

 _Tyrland sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his left thumb and forefinger. "Revenge for revenge. This is a viscous cycle we put ourselves through."_

" _Enough talk wolf!" The scarred Nord roared, as he drew a large battle axe from where it rested behind his back. "Now you die!"_

 _Several Silver Hand charged at Tyrland, who instead of drawing Silverbane, inhaled as he prepared his counter. "YOL TOR SHUUL!" Fire shot from Tyrland's mouth, engulfing the charging Silver Hand in his powerful thu'um._

 _An arrow whistled past Tyrland's head. He couldn't tell weather or not the archer fired a warning shot or had missed. Either way, he wasn't giving that archer another chance to fire another arrow. Tyrland charged forward, opening his palms so two of his enchanted daggers slid from the hidden spring slings he had up the sleeves in his armor. The scarred Nord roared, and swung down with his large axe. Tyrland through one of his daggers into the throat of the Bosmer archer, before another thu'um echoed around the open space._

" _FEIN!" Tyrland became transparent, and the scarred Nord's axe passed through the younger Nord's body harmlessly. The Nord with the scarred face looked at Tyrland, his right eye wide with shock before the effects of Tyrland's thu'um wore off. Tyrland struck out with his right hand, catching the scarred Nord in the nose with the pommel of his other enchanted dagger. The younger Nord smirked, as he heard the elder's nose break from the powerful blow. Roaring and blinded by pain, they scarred Nord dropped his axe, and brought both hands up to his nose._

 _Moving on, Tyrland spun and threw the dagger in his right hand into the throat of a Redguard Silver Hand whose face looked just as scarred as the Nord whose nose Tyrland had just broken. Almost like this man had been mauled by a bear … Or a werewolf. The sigils on the Daedric dagger glowed bright orange, as the Redguard's blood was ignited. His veins turned the same color as the sigils on the dagger's hilt. He screamed in pain just like the vampires Tyrland had dispatched earlier, before dropping to his knees. The Redguard's eyes rolled up into the back of his skull, before he collapsed onto the ground._

" _One down." Tyrland said under his breath, as he drew Silerbane from its scabbard. "A fuckton to go."_

 _Three Silver Hand attacked at once. Two silver longswords and a silver axe swung downward, only to be met by Silverbane's edge when Tyrland brought the blade up to counter. Turning his blade, Tyrland buried the Silver Hand weapons into the earth blades first._

" _Hello there." Tyrland growled in a playfully viscious way. He brought his left hand up, and a torrent of fire erupted from his palm. It caught the Silver Hand on the left full in the face, who didn't have time to scream, as his skin was melted off of his face leaving only the now smoking white skull. He then brought his right forearm up, and smashed it into the face of the Silver Hand on the right breaking his nose. That left only the Silver Hand in the middle, who had the bright golden skin of a High Elf who still wore the robes of the Thalmor over their Silver Hand Armor. And since the Thalmor were at the top of Tyrland's shitlist, he had something special for this particular Silver Hand. His left hand still hot from when he had burned away one Silver Hand's face, He brought it to the right side of the High Elf's face, catching it in a vice like grip. Like the Redguard who had his blood ignited, the Altmer screamed in pain as his bright golden skin sizzled and burned, before he too collapsed to the ground._

 _By that time the third Silver Hand that had engaged Tyrland had recovered, and charged at the young Nord with two previously unseen silver daggers in her hands. Tyrland brought up Silverbane, and fast as lightning rended the Silver Hand's head from her shoulders. "And goodbye."_

 _A loud roar told Tyrland that the Nord with the scarred face had recovered from having his nose broken. Rolling to his left, Tyrland barely got out of the way of the large silver battle axe that attempted to bisect him. Crouching low, Tyrland faced the only remaining Silver Hand that stood in his way._

" _Ready to die wolf?" The scarred Nord growled, as he raised his battle axe._

" _After you." Tyrland replied panting slightly, though his grip on Silverbane tightened._

 _The scarred Nord roared again, as he charged at Tyrland. The large battle axe met Silverbane as the two warriors clashed their weapons. Though Tyrland was strong thanks to being a werewolf, this Nord had the strength and power of two saber cats. Which was saying a lot, as even one saber cat was an immense danger to even the most experienced warriors in Skyrim._

" _You've no chance against me wolf." The scarred Nord growled, as they glared daggers at each other. "I've fought and killed dozens of your kind. You'll just be another notch on my belt. One of many."_

" _Oh you know what? Fuck this!" Tyrland spat, as he produced one of his enchanted Daedric daggers. The enchanted weapon sliced through the haft of the large battle axe, which said something about Tyrland's skill with magic if a small dagger could cut through the haft of a large axe so easily. The scarred Nord could only stare at his ruined weapon, as Tyrland inhaled again._

" _FUS RO DAH!" The scarred Nord was blasted off of his feet, and smashed back first into the side of the mountain where the hag ravens made their home. He struggled to get back to his feet, but when he did, Tyrland had tackled him to the ground inhaling deeply once again._

" _YOL TOR SHUUUUL!" Fire erupted from Tyrland's mouth, as the young Nord held the fire breath shout as long as he could. When he finally stopped, the scarred Nord's body was reduced to nothing but ash._

" _That absolutely sucked." Tyrland said, spitting blood out of his mouth. "Damnit, too many shouts in such a short amount of time…"_

-present time-

Aela looked at Tyrland clearly impressed with how her Shield Brother had dealt with both the vampires and the small force of Silver Hand. Yet Tyrland had eluded her primary question. "But what were you doing at that cave?"

Tyrland brushed his wet hair out of his eyes. As he told his story, Aela had guided him to a river to wash the blood off of his body. "I said it earlier. It was a request from Kodlak. He wanted me to retrieve one of those hags heads."

Aela's eyes widened, as everything came together. "He didn't want to be sent to the Hunting Grounds."

Tyrland nodded, as his Shield sister finally understood. "He wanted to be sent to Soverngarde when he died."

Aela sighed, and sat along the bank of the river after handing Tyrland the armor he had shed upon transforming into a werewolf. "Yet he was slain before he could achieve his dream."

A sharp pain, like a red hot glove clenching Tyrland's insides shot through his stomach as he thought about Kodlak, and how he was doomed forever to Hircine's Hunting Grounds in Bloodmoon. He sighed and sat next to Aela, after putting his armor back on.

"I failed him." Tyrland said. His eyes downcast.

"You did nothing of the sort." Aela replied in a tone halfway between a growl and an attempt at a comforting voice. She set her head on Tyrland's right shoulder, and closed her eyes.

"How were they able to attack us?" Tyrland asked after a long moment of silence passed between the two.

Aela shook her head where it rested against Tyrland's shoulder. "That I do not know. Though I wish I did."

"Was anyone else…?" Tyrland couldn't bring himself to finish his question, but Aela understood all the same.

"No." She replied. "Though Ria impressed us all."

"How so?" Tyrland asked, turning his head to look at his Shield Sister.

"You saw the mound of Silver Hand that … That Kodlak's body was on top of?" Aela asked with some difficulty, to which Tyrland nodded. "All of those were Ria's kills."

Tyrland scoffed, clearly impressed. "I'd say she should be brought into the circle."

"Agreed." Came Aela's reply, followed by more silence. The two stayed like that until the sun's first light crept over the top of the mountains.

"The red dawn rises." Tyrland said, looking at the blood red light that shone over the mountains.

"We should return home."

-The Skyforge-

Tyrland and Aela were the last of the Companions to return to Whiterun. Kodlak's body had been removed from where it had fallen in Jorvaskir, and taken up to the Skyforge where a large funeral pyre had been erected for the Harbinger of the Companions. All the members of the Companions, Circle members and those considered New Blood had gathered to pay their final respects to Kodlak.

Tyrland looked to all the members of the Circle, who all looked too grief stricken to speak. "Who will start?"

Aela stepped forward. "I'll do it." She took a breath to steady herself, before speaking once again. "Before the ancient flame."

"We grieve." Everyone replied.

"At this loss." Tyrland said.

"We weap." Came the reply.

"For the fallen." Vilkas started.

"We shout." Came everyone's reply.

"And for ourselves." Farkas began.

"We take our leave."

Aela stepped forward, a torch in her hand. She lit the funeral pyre, her fists clenched so tightly to keep herself from weaping over Kodlak's passing, her knuckles were white. "His spirit has passed. Members of the circle, let us retreat to the Underforge to grieve our last."

Slowly, as if they did not want to leave, the members of the Circle made their way down the stone steps of the Skyforge until it was just Tyrland and Aela left alone at the Skyforge.

"Tyrland." Aela said, placing a hand on his arm. "We have to go." Tyrland remained silent, tears streaming down his face. Aela's hand lightly contracted around his arm.

Tyrland nodded, wiping his eyes. He and Aela slowly made their way to the steps of the Skyforge, yet at the top of the steps. Tyrland stopped and turned around to face Kodlak's funeral pyre. "Goodbye Kodlak."


	5. Chapter 5

-Close to the Thalmor embassy-

The mountain air whipped around someone in dark leather armor. The sun had set long ago, making this person all but invisible. The snow did not even crunch under this person's feet as they moved forward towards the former embassy. There was a light coming from one of the windows, which was very odd as it had been a year since the Thalmor had withdrawn from Skyrim.

"Very odd indeed." Sif said under her mask and hood. "This warrants a closer look."

Sif scaled the fence of the embassy with no effort, landing on the other side of the fence soundlessly on the balls of her feet. Sif was a great many things in Skyrim. Dragonborn, Companion, Shield Sister, Werewolf, Nightingale, yet her favorite title by far was Listener. Since Astrid had rescued her from the Silver Hand attack when she was a child, the former head of Skyrim's Dark Brotherhood had been both her instructor and surrogate mother. It was Astrid's training that had kept Sif alive when she carried out the assassination of Cyrodil's Emperor, and it was Astrid's training that allowed Sif to enter the Thalmor embassy unseen and soundlessly.

Silent as the grave, Sif crept to the building with the light in the window. The young woman scaled up the wood and stone of the building until she came to the top floor. Looking in through the window, Sif was in for a surprise. Elenwen, the former ambassador of Skyrim's Thalmor was sitting at a desk, pouring over books and maps, and she had changed from when Sif had last seen her.

Elenwen's face was scarred from where her nails had cut her skin from all the times she had run her hands down her face. Her hair was unkempt and disheveled. There were dark circles under her eyes, indicating her heavy lack of sleep. And her hands shook violently as she reached for a large bottle of wine.

"Someone's been drinking I see." Sif whispered to herself. Though with the wind howling about her, her words would have been unheard to any but herself.

The candle light in Elenwen's room sputtered as a window was opened. Elenwen gasped, almost knocking over her bottle of wine, as her attention turned to her open window. She stood up, and stumbled drunkenly over to it. She peered out of the open window, the wind whipping her hair wildly as she looked for any sign of an intruder, though as drunk as she was it would not have mattered to even the clumsiest of thief's or assassin's. Finally deciding that she must have left it open and had forgotten about it, Elenwen slammed the window shut, and stumbled back to her desk to pour over her maps and scraps of paper.

"Damn you Tyr!" She spat after taking a large gulp of wine. "I know it was you who orchestrated everything! You cost me everything! My power, my control over this country's pathetic and inferior people! My position in the Dominion! EVERYTHING!"

Elenwen threw the bottle of wine across the room in her drunken rampage. It shattered and spilt its contents on the far side of the floor, which then soaked into the rather expensive carpet. Cursing and sobbing, Elenwen slammed her fists against her desk again and again, praying and hoping that this was just some sort of bad dream. That was until an idea struck the High Elf. An idea in which she could reclaim Skyrim for herself.

"Yes… Yes. I can use those filthy Forsworn. They're desperate to reclaim the Reach, and with enough motivation I can get them to take _all_ of Skyrim."

From where she stood, Sif loosened the slack on her ebony bow. She had a feeling that she would come to regret not putting this unstable Altmer down like a rabid dog, but something told Sif that she had to let Elenwen live for the time being. Then from all around, came a long drawn out and mournful howl that drew both Sif's and Elenwen's attention.

Though Elenwen was alarmed about a possible werewolf being nearby, Sif felt a mix of emotions fighting with one another inside of her. She knew that howl, she knew that it was Tyr, and as she listened she felt the emotions of surprise, fear, anger, and great sadness envelop her simultaneously. As she heard her elder brother howl, she almost dropped her bow onto the wood floors of Elenwen's room. Kodlak Whitemane had been killed.

-Sky Haven Temple-

In the courtyard of the large mountaintop temple sat a man who looked exactly like Tyrland. He was sitting at a forge finishing a blade much like Tyrland had been several days prior. Bramiond was tightly wrapping cloth along the oak handle of his long single edged blade, finishing the construction of his blade by securing the pommel over the mekugi pin.

"Finally finished." Bramiond said, slowly placing his blade into a scabbard made from the same piece of oak he had used to construct his blade's hilt. He paused, with the only part of his blade exposed being the habaki. A few moments passed before the top of the scabbard met the hexagonal handguard.

"Ah I see you've completed it." A voice with an elderly wheeze spoke the moment Bramiond had sheathed his blade. The corners of Bramiond's lips curved up into a smile as Esbern seated himself next to the young Nord.

"Not an easy task when you're working from old Akiviri schematics." Bramiond replied stretching, and sighing in relief when several joints in his arms and back popped.

"Forging a weapon of the Blades is far more of a challenge than forging a normal straight sword isn't it?" Esbern asked cheekily, and Bramiond saw a challenging glint in the old man's eye. "Though your forging was an undoubted success, I wonder why you do not use the Centurian's blade any longer?"

There was a moment of silence that passed between the two Nords, as Bramiond thought of a reply. Up until he had forged this blade, Bramiond had wielded his grandfather's Akiviri Dai-Katana. That weapon had a long history of its own when it was wielded by his grandfather. Vincentias who had come to be known as the Centurian, had used the large single edged blade through the Oblivion Crisis, ever since he had joined the Blades over two hundred years ago.

"The blade has a history of its own." Bramiond began. It's seen two hundred years worth of battles and world altering journies. I believe that allowing it to be used to slay Alduin whilst in Soverngarde was a fitting end to its history. Now that I have retired my grandfather's blade to the Hall of the Blades, I see no reason as to why I should not forge a new blade and make my own history with it."

"Well spoken indeed." Esbern said nodding in approval of Bramiond's words. "Especially since you are now the Blades new Grandmaster."

Bramiond sighed, and ran a hand through his long dark hair. "I cannot believe that everyone here wanted me to become the Grandmaster. I do not know why you didn't wish to lead us."

"I'm too old to do much of anything Bramiond." Esbern replied.

"All the more reason that you should be the Grandmaster." Bramiond said, turning to face the elder Nord. "You're far more experienced than anyone else."

"And yet, I've never slain a single dragon." Esbern said laughing softly. "How many have you and your siblings brought down?"

"A little under three dozen." Bramiond replied almost at once. "But that is not reason enough."

All attempts at conversation ended when a long drawn out howl reached their ears. Bramiond recognized that howl at once. He had heard it once before now fourteen years ago. He had heard that howl when he saw his childhood home engulfed in flames due to the Silver Hand. Heard it when Skjor was killed. Now that same howl had reached his ears, Bramiond knew that another Companion had died at the blades of the Silver Hand, though he was not prepared for the name carried to his ears from Tyr's mournful howl.

"Kodlak." Bramiond had drapped his blade, having gone numb from the shock of what he had just heard. "The Silver Hand's killed Kodlak."

"Bramiond, you must not do anything rash." Esbern said, placing his hands rather firmly upon the younger Nord's shoulders.

"You will not have to fear that from me." Bramiond replied, though he thought his voice did sound far away. "It is Tyr you have to worry for. I have a very strong feeling that the red sun will rise once my brother finds where the Silver Hand have retreated to."

"And what will you do Bramiond?" Esbern asked, his brow creased.

"I have to go to Whiterun. As a member of the Circle, I must be present for…" Bramiond stopped short, as if he could not bring himself to say the next few words. "For Kodlak's funeral."

-Whiterun-

"And for the ourselves."

"We take our leave." Bramiond's and Sif's voices were drowned out, as all the members of the Companions replied as one.

Though a hardened assassin, Sif had only once in her life shead tears. That was when she had learned her parents had been killed. Fourteen years after that, Sif was desperately fighting back her tears. Sif was a trained and hardened assassin. She was used to death, having been the cause of much of it around Skyrim for the past fourteen years. Now here she was, trying her hardest to fight back her tears. Fighting not to cry as she looked at Kodlak's body. Yet she fought a losing battle, as the tears streaked down her face just as tears streaked down Tyr and Bramiond's.

Slowly one by one the members of the Circle, Sif included made their way from the Skyforge and down the stone steps towards the Underforge. Both Sif and Bramiond stopped at the bottom step, as Tyr had not joined them. Sif looked up at her elder brother through her tear filled eyes, about to ask if they should go back up to get him, when she heard Aela speak to Tyr.

"Tyrland, we have to go." The red haired woman said. There was a momentary pause, before they heard their brother speak.

"Goodbye Kodlak." Tyrland said, and Sif felt more tears streak down her face. Her face was now buried into the chestplate of Bramiond's Blades curas, as she could no longer hold back her sobs.

"Come on Sif. Dry your tears." Bramiond said, trying to keep his voice even. "Kodlak would not want us crying over him like milk drinkers."

"I did not shed tears when I had to kill Astrid." Sif began. "Not when Skjor died. Not even when word reached me that our grandfather had died."

"I know sister." Bramiond cut across, before his sister could continue. "I shed no tears when grandfather or Skjor passed. Yet their spirits are avenged thanks to Tyr. And I do not think that the head of the Dark Brotherhood can hardly be seen shedding tears."

"She's a highly skilled assassin." Aela remarked, as she and Tyrland had joined their Shield-Siblings. "If anyone but us had seen this, they would not be around for much longer."

"Point well made sister." Bramiond said, steadying his voice. "Shall we go in?"

"The sooner the better." Tyr replied, before he set his hand upon the concealed stone door of the Underforge. The four were greeted to the sound and sight of a loud argument.

"They were like animals!" Fenrir roared, as his fingers gripped the large basin the Circle used in the ritual to make a Shield-Sibling a Werewolf. "And I slaughtered them like animals!"

Tyr looked to Tohr for answers, who quickly filled him in. "Fenrir found a nest of Silver Hand when you went on your rampage. Like you, he didn't leave anyone alive."

"The one thing worse than bandits for Fenrir is the Silver Hand." Aela said bitingly.

"I hate them!" Fenrir roared, striking the stone of the wall of the Underforge, which cracked due to the amount of force put into that strike.

"Fenrir." Tyr began, forcing himself to remain calm. "Calm yourself brother."

Fenrir looked at tyr, his eyes alight with anger. Anger at the Silver Hand, for the atrocity they had committed. Anger at Tyr for telling him to be calm. And anger at himself for not being strong enough to save the man he had thought of as his second father. Now he was gone, and just like before, he felt powerless at the revelation that had he been stronger, he could have saved Kodlak.

"Tyr." Fenrir began, the fire in his eyes becoming brighter. "Don't you dare."

"No Fenrir." Tyr cut across his Shield-Brother. "Don't you dare. We are all in pain, and we are all angry at what has happened. But Kodlak would not want _this_. Us squabbling and plotting reckless murder. The crime the Silver Hand committed has been answered for. Enough blood has been spilt on both sides, and this ends _now_."

There was a long silence after Tyr's words. And in that silence, the Circle saw something in Tyr that he did not see himself. A leader, a Harbinger, an Alpha.

"What are we to do now then Tyr?" Tohr asked, breaking the silence. "I don't want to re-ignite the fires of anger that still smoulder within us, Yet Kodlak's last request before Jorvaskir was attacked went unfufilled. What are we to do?"

"We can still answer Kodlak's final request." Sif said speaking from the shadows somewhere behind Vilkas and Farkas, and causing both brothers to jump in surprise, having forgotten that she was there.

"What are you talking about Sif?" Tyr asked, crossing his arms over the chestplate of his Companions armor.

"Yisgramor's tomb. In the innermost chamber of the tomb, there is said to be a place where all the spirits of all the previous Harbingers gather before passing to the next life."

Bramiond nodded, as he took in this information. Everyone in the Companions knew of Yisgramor's tomb, yet there was something that bothered him. Something that he knew all of his Shield-Siblings knew as well. "Yisgramor's tomb is sealed. The only way in lies with Wuthrad."

"And Wuthrad shall grant you entrance." Everyone jumped when Jorlund entered the Underforge, then their expressions turned from shock to awe. In the hands of the Companions forgemaster was Wuthrad, the weapon used by Yisgramor himself.


End file.
